


Home Sweet Home

by guineamania



Series: Hurt Comfort Bingo [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Gen, Gunshot, Hiding, Safehouses, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:35:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5202641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineamania/pseuds/guineamania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>UNCLE is on the run in the USA and they can trust no one. Napoleon as the local is forced to take them to a house he had kept secret. The team quickly find out why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Sweet Home

**Author's Note:**

> To fill the Blood Loss square on my Hurt Comfort Bingo

“No, no, no, and I repeat no!” Napoleon exclaimed, pacing backwards and forwards along the grassy embankment. UNCLE had been compromised by someone in the office and the three agents needed somewhere in Midwestern America to hide that was completely off record. They had no access to any bank accounts and any use of known aliases would be monitored. There was only one choice and Napoleon was not happy about it. Illya and Gaby sat patiently on the side of the road watching their car go up in flames. They had dealt with all the men currently on their trail but more would be following soon. They had to get out of here but Napoleon cleared did not want to go where they were being told to go. “You promised me that you would never make me do this!” Napoleon continued his tirade but within minutes he had been talked down and was muttering as he turned off the radio. “We need to go,” Napoleon growled storming off down the road. Illya and Gaby looked at each other with matching perplexed expressions before jumping up and following their team mate.

“Where are we going?” Illya questioned and received another growl in response. They walked down the side of the road for about an hour before reaching a small town. Napoleon didn’t even pause as he continued the break neck pace that was leaving Gaby exhausted. She hoped they didn’t have to walk much further; the sun was bearing down on them and her shoes were not made for this exertion. They finally came to a stop at a dingy little garage but Napoleon was still on his furious mission. However his moral was beginning to fade away and motivation faltering. Gaby let out an audible sigh of relief at the sight of Napoleon pulling a tarp off a 1950 Cadillac Coupe de Ville in bright red. Illya thought that Napoleon could have picked a slightly less conspicuous car but the look on Gaby’s face made up for it; her jaw had dropped and she dived for the car. “It’s beautiful,” she grinned, stroking the shining paintwork and bringing a smile to Napoleon’s face.

 

“Mr Kent,” a voice spoke from the doorway as Illya and Napoleon were loading the car. Napoleon spun round and Illya’s brow furrowed even more. He thought he knew all of Napoleon’s old aliases; the thief had been forced to turn them all in when he was arrested so they were on file. “There are some men walking down the road knocking on doors. I think they might be here for you,” the store owner informed Napoleon and Napoleon knocked with a small smile.

“Thank you, I’ll deal with them,” Napoleon sighed loading his gun.

“We can run Napoleon, your car with be able to out run anything they have,” Gaby tried to reason with Napoleon’s suicide mission.

“I refuse to run, this is my patch and they dare bring CIA business here. I will not have them shooting at my car and following us. I am going to end this here and now. Keep loading supplies, I won’t be long,” Napoleon hissed again, Illya had never seen his partner so angry. Napoleon had always been the cool and collected one out of the three of them; Illya had his episodes and Gaby often had a short temper. This was throwing the whole team off balance. Illy and Gaby hurriedly loaded the rest of the supplies into the car and Illya was fighting the urge to go check on Napoleon. Gunshots pierced the tense silence. Before Illya could dive outside, the silence returned and Napoleon stumbled in the door. Now the smooth and suave Napoleon Solo stumbling should have been enough of an indicator that something was wrong. The blood dripping down his arm was the final straw. Gaby burst into action, grabbing the medical kit they had packed and applying pressure to the wound to try to staunch the bleeding; there was no way she was going to try to remove the bullet in a dirty old garage, she was just going to have to keep Napoleon alive until they got to the safe house.

“Get in the car, we need to get out of here,” it was clear that it pained Napoleon to hand over the keys of his prized car to the Russian but if he tried to drive, then he would kill all of them … and his car.

 

While Illya raced out of the backwater town, Napoleon hastily scribbled out a route on a map as Gaby tried to stop the blood flow from his shoulder. It was hard when the only person who knew the route was suffering from quite extensive blood loss. Illya had to just focus on driving as fast as he could without breaking any laws, the last thing they needed was to be arrest by some small time American cop. But Napoleon was not in a good shape. With every new bandage Gaby had to apply, the colour was draining from his face. After about an hour of driving Gaby cursed, frantically trying to keep Napoleon awake but he just kept drifting in and out of consciousness. “We should be there soon,” Illya muttered, wishing there was some way of helping his partner’s but he had to keep driving. Illya was right though, they were very close and the Russian skidded the car to a halt. They were in front of an old fashioned farm house that really did not look like a CIA safe house. Well that was the purpose wasn’t it; they were trying not to be found. A woman ran out of the front door; she looked to be in her sixties and was not the sort of person Illya expected to see. “Help me get him inside,” the woman ordered and Illya complied. This was not the time to be arguing with CIA agents.

 

Somehow Gaby and Illya managed to drag Napoleon inside without shifting the bullet in his shoulder even further. The woman threw everything off the kitchen table and Illya heaved Napoleon up onto it. “Gaby can you bring the car into the garage. Kuryakin I will need you to hold him down. This is going to hurt,” the woman explained and the duo burst into action. The woman sterilised a pair of tweezers and without a word of warning, dug them into the wound on Napoleon’s shoulder. Illya knew this needed to be done but Napoleon’s screams still wrenched at his heart. It didn’t take long for the woman to remove the bullet and bandage up Napoleon’s shoulder but the agent was unconscious throughout the whole procedure. “Can you please take him upstairs for me? His room is first door on the left,” she explained, wiping off the table. Illya nodded and slowly picked up the unconscious American and proceeded to carry him up the stairs.

 

Now this was when it got even stranger. At first glance the room was normal. It just looked like a normal guest room, a lot more comfortable than most of the safe houses he found himself in. However once he had laid Napoleon in the bed, he had a chance to really look. The shelves were full of fantasy books and little figurines, the most noticeable one being of Captain America. It was like a teenage boy’s room. This thought was confirmed by the little trophies on the window sill. It was probably just to keep a cover, people in this neighbourhood would probably be suspicious of a usual safe house layout. However upon closer inspection that was all thrown out of the window and Illya was shocked still. The name on all these trophies was Napoleon Solo. This was Napoleon’s bedroom, which means this is Napoleon’s house. It did explain why the American didn’t want to take them here and why he was determined no one could be following them. He had brought them home. “So he didn’t tell you,” the woman spoke up from where she had been lingering in the doorway.

“No, he just said it was unknown,” Illya replied, picking up one of the trophies, this one was for a children’s football team. “So are you his housekeeper?” Illya questioned, turning round away from the window.

“No, I’m his mother.”

 

This day was getting stranger by the hour. Illya never thought that he would be sat with Gaby in Napoleon’s childhood home that evening, with the American agent’s mother. “I can imagine he was a terror as a child,” Gaby smiled, enjoying her tea and chatting with Mrs Solo.

“Oh he was. He always had to be moving and doing something. He had boundless energy and that face that meant you could never be angry with him,” Mrs Solo reminisced, joking about her delinquent son.

“I do have to say thank you for taking us in like this ma’am,” Gaby said with a tender smile but Mrs Solo just brushed it off.

“Call me Angela, Mrs Solo makes me feel so old,” Angela replied, pouring more tea.

“I hope you are talking about me mum,” Napoleon spoke up from the doorway as he walked in. He was still far too pale for Illya’s liking and his arm was bandaged up and strapped to his chest. But at least he was up and moving and was well enough to joke around like usual.

“Of course I am, I never miss a chance to gush over my son,” Angela laughed as Napoleon settled down into the free chair.

“Mum,” Napoleon whined bringing a smile to Illya’s face. They were just like a normal family, that was a thing that Illya never had and he longed for one.

“Don’t fuss darling,” Angela just brushed it off.

“But team, you understand why no one can know about this,” Napoleon turned his thoughts back to more serious mattered. They understood, Napoleon’s mother would be a target if her location was known. They would keep his secret and Illya knew that he would never betray his best friend.


End file.
